Rhein Calendar Year 1243, Order Bureau.
The dry metallic creaking sound echoed occasionally, as the rudimentary elevator slowly descended within the dark and deep vertical shaft, akin to exploring an ancient tomb where the air was laden with dust.
The man leaned in the dimly lit corner and coughed heavily a few times, constantly feeling as though lingering here for too long might inflict him with some respiratory illness.
Despite this thought, he still picked up a cigarette, lighting it brought a faint glow to his resolute face, he inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to mix with the suffusing dust.
Several cigarette butts lay scattered on the ground, this wasn’t the man’s first smoke; whether it was the antiquity of the elevator leading to an inefficacy or perhaps he was heading to the bottommost depths of the Abyss, was undeterminable.
The man felt as if he’s been here for several hours, yet the descent continues unabated.
The interior of the Order Bureau was modernized, even avant-garde in some sections; yet despite such modernization, there were areas retaining centuries-old styles, a blend of old and new.
The stone walls were covered in damp moss, dusty candlesticks, the elevator was blemished with rust, the wooden boards underneath seemed precarious, he felt a slight exertion might send him through the floor into darkness.
Luckily, these antiquated areas were beyond the reach of ordinary staff; only a few within the Order Bureau could venture within, the man happened to be one among them, notably one with substantial authority.
Having smoked yet another cigarette, he felt somewhat irritable; upon reaching for more within his pocket, he found the recent one was the last from the pack.
The man complained, recalling what a woman had once mentioned to him.
"You should quit smoking."
"Why? Condensers don’t succumb to lung cancer, much less one of my Tier." The man raised an eyebrow in reply.
"I just dislike the smell of smoke."
As the woman spoke, she approached, extinguishing her cigarette; maybe she intended to kiss him yet pinched her nose, and frowned exclaiming.
Reflecting on this, the man chuckled to himself, crumpled the cigarette pack nonchalantly tossing it into the darkness.
Suddenly, the elevator began shaking violently, astonishing him; thinking, regardless of antiquity, it wouldn’t halt due to littering, would it?
But quickly, the trembling ceased, the iron gate drew open, dim light shone ahead, where a gray-robed individual awaited holding a candlestick.
It wasn’t the elevator malfunctioning, but rather the man had finally arrived at his destination.
"Whew, this hellish place is troublesome every visit."
Stepping out, he fully stretched his body; only then one could notice his towering physique akin to a sturdy bull.
"Vice Director Nesanel."
The gray-robed one nodded to Nesanel; acknowledging him not as the Minister of External Affairs but the Order Bureau’s Vice Director.
"Good morning, Prison Warden, you look well."
Nesanel patted the gray-robed man’s back, peering into the unknowable darkness within the robe, full of banter said.
Darkness and gray robes shrouded the Prison Warden fully, yet it didn’t hinder displaying displeasure. Though unhappy, he knew this man cared little for his sentiments; he’s always been , acting on his whims.
The Prison Warden despised physical contact, yet this old chap never learned, always patting him upon each visit; despite rebukes, he’d retort, "You’ve lingered in the darkness too long, you need some vitality, friend."
Nesanel felt filled with life undeniably; few could at his age have such a youthful mindset.
"Lead the way, I feel no matter how often I come, I can’t remember the path; it’s too dark... have you not considered installing more lighting?"
Nesanel babbled continuously; the Prison Warden simply ignored his chatter.
Around them wasn’t just darkness but a light-consuming mist; no form of illumination could persist here, only the Prison Warden’s candlestick could faintly light the surroundings, albeit just nearby.
After departing the elevator, the Prison Warden led Nesanel along a narrow path; along steep cliffs, vision hindered judging their position, forget about hidden paths.
Besides limited sight, this area was an Ether vacuum; Nesanel attempted releasing some Ether, soon those drifting Ethers were devoured entirely by something within the darkness, consuming not only light but Ether.
These actions did not escape the Prison Warden; he spoke no further, considering his visitation an inspection of Black Prison’s security capabilities.
"Let’s chat, Prison Warden."
It’s far too quiet here; Nesanel could faintly hear the sound of his heart pumping blood, needing conversation to break the damned silence.
"Discuss matters concerning him," Nesanel stated, "to be so anticipated by the Director, I’m genuinely curious."
The Prison Warden fell silent briefly, then in a rasping voice akin to a mummy said.
"That was sixty-six years ago, discovered by Alberto Alfredo on the battlefield," he reminisced about the scene, "his presence could hardly go unnoticed; King Solomon’s light burned everyone into towering salt pillars, amidst the sulfur and fire burgeoned Hell, he was the sole living being struggling in agony."